


to be made right

by dorenamryn



Series: obikin week 2017 [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Deception AU, Episode: s04e15 Deception, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Poor Anakin, So much angst, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, ahsoka doesn't deserve any of this, obi-wan didn't think things through
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 09:33:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11552400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorenamryn/pseuds/dorenamryn
Summary: Anakin is not angry; Obi-Wan is dead, and he feels hollow. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan realizes his mistakes, and Ahsoka is left to clean up the mess.Alternatively: when Obi-Wan, Yoda, and Mace make a plan without Anakin, he doesn't react like they expected him to.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for Obikin Week Day 2: Second Chances.

Obi-Wan stood still and silent behind the power generator, his eyes closed. His mind was in turmoil. Of course, he knew that the sniper was right there. If he stepped out, for all intents and purposes, he would be dead. It was in this moment that he, yet again, wondered if this was the right choice. 

His fists clenched as he let out a deep exhale. He was worried for Anakin; it was only natural, right? Anakin would be alright in the end. He would understand, or so Obi-Wan tried to convince himself. Anakin would have to be alright. He knew that Anakin’s reaction had to be believable, he knew that Anakin shouldn’t be in on it, _Anakin had to understand_. He would apologize to him, yes. After this was all over, he would apologize.

So it was, then. His fingers tightened around his lightsaber hilt, and his feet moved of their own accord, carrying him out from beyond the safety of the power generator. The world was silent and deathly still for a second, and then, just as he breathed in one last time—

Something hard hit his chest, and all the air was torn from his lungs; he hadn’t even seen the blaster bolt coming. The force of the impact knocked him off his feet and from the edge of the rooftop, and just as his eyes began to close and the welcoming darkness of unconsciousness embraced him, he heard Anakin’s agonized scream.

“OBI-WAN!”

The world went dark, and Obi-Wan again wondered if he’d made the right choice.

And yet, when Obi-Wan hit the ground, the everything seemed to stop, if only just for a moment. Anakin Skywalker, still up on the rooftop, felt something, somewhere, snap. He wanted to pause, to look, but Ahsoka was down there with Obi-Wan and the sniper was still on the loose.

“I’ve got him,” his Padawan yelled from the ground. “You go get the sniper!”

Duty came first, Anakin knew this, so instead of staying, making sure, he nodded to her, turned around, and ran. Nonetheless, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. It was as if a tremendous feeling of _wrongness_ had flooded his brain, so complex and powerful that he couldn’t identify it on the go. So, as he did with all things of such manner, he shoved the feeling away, but unlike most things, it ate away at his thoughts as it sat there, begging, pleading to be prodded, withholding a terrible, terrible truth.

Anakin ignored it and continued running, the adrenaline making his heart beat out of his chest and his breaths come in harsh and fast. He was aware of everything, from the steady pattern of the sniper’s feet several metres ahead of him to the quiet whirr coming from the rooftop generators. 

He saw the sniper hop onto a speeder, but he _would not_ give up now, so he pushed himself to move faster, faster, faster—

Too late, he saw the man take something from his jacket, a small and fickle thing, but as it fell to the ground and the smoke began, he realized. Anakin stopped breathing for a moment and raised a hand to his face but alas, when he emerged from the already-clearing smoke, coughing, the sniper was gone.

He stood still, a calm and deathly silence gripping him as the feeling of wrongness returned with full force. The sound of the engines belonging to the sniper’s speeder were already fading further and further away, and so Anakin turned back and reached for the feeling that had flooded his mind again. 

One word was what he got. A name. _Obi-Wan_.

And then, his lungs held in a vice-like grip, the horrible, terrible feeling began to grow in magnitude as his heart beat faster and his breaths came quicker and his feet pounded into the hard concrete. He needed to find Obi-Wan, and fast. Feeling out Ahsoka’s presence, he nimbly jumped from roof to roof, the feeling now having ascended to fully eating him alive, something dark and dangerous lurking in the depths.

When he finally zeroed in on Ahsoka’s location and leapt from the roof to the ground, the feeling suddenly increased a thousandfold, making his head pound and his vision blur slightly. He lost his footing as he landed, stumbling a bit before he ran to Ahsoka.

“How is he?” He asked, his voice sounding foreign to even his own ears; but as he met Ahsoka’s eyes and saw her tears, there was nothing more that could be said, and the terrible feeling finally unveiled the undeniably painful truth.

Obi-Wan was gone.

It was as if someone had punched him. His breath hitched, his lungs constricted, and he found that his throat had closed up. He choked, for a moment, before his head exploded, his mind a supernova; everything was falling, and he was in the centre of it all, his hands holding the shattered fragments of his and Obi-Wan’s bond. The Force wrapped around him like a maelstrom, of people long gone and screams and agony and torrents upon torrents of pain and longing as he screamed, the sound of it unearthly and full of sorrow. Only then did he realize that he had sunk to the ground and keeled over, his face buried in Obi-Wan’s unmoving chest, _no, why wasn't he getting up?_

This wasn’t happening, Anakin concluded, raising his head as he fell apart, tears streaming down his face, shaking Obi-Wan’s still shoulders. This was all a dream, a plot created by the Separatists. It had to be. And yet, not even the denial was working. He was still there, kneeling over Obi-Wan Kenobi, police sirens making their way into his head, and he was still there. He saw Ahsoka next to him, and he found that he couldn’t speak at all.

People gathered, police speeders floated above the scene, but Anakin continued shaking Obi-Wan’s shoulders, his tears shining on his face, and all of a sudden he didn’t care that he was the Chosen One, that people looked at him right now and saw his weakness, for _Obi-Wan Kenobi was dead and Anakin couldn't save him_.

This wasn’t like when his mother had died, no, this was a thousand times worse. He wasn’t angry, like he had been on that cold desert night; he was _broken_. Something had shattered deep within him, and he didn’t know how to go on. He closed his eyes, then, falling into the dark embrace of the deathly silence of the rooftops, the sounds of the sirens and the voices melting away. A bone-deep, aching sorrow settled in his chest.

He was solemn as he carefully picked up Obi-Wan’s still form. His body was light, Anakin found. He didn’t know what to think of that.

“Master?” Ahsoka asked, looking to him. Anakin couldn’t meet her gaze. He couldn’t say anything, but he should, he knew, for she was young and hurting and he it was his job to comfort her, but Anakin just could not utter a single word.

“Master?” She asked again, her voice laced with concern. He didn’t reply, instead walking, his head held high, taking himself step after careful step, past the police cruisers, past the throng of people that had gathered at the scene.

He didn’t care about them. All he cared about was Obi-Wan’s lifeless body cradled in his arms, and how he wasn’t strong enough to save another person he loved. After his mother, he had promised himself, _never again_. But he wasn’t strong enough, he wasn’t fast enough, and Obi-Wan was gone. He’d never thought that Obi-Wan would ever be gone. Yes, this was war, but he and Obi-Wan were the Team. He had never thought, not for a second, that he would die alone. Whenever he had thought of it, he had thought, somewhere deep down, _Obi-Wan would be with him_.

That was not to be, now. Obi-Wan was gone, and Anakin hadn't even gotten a chance to say goodbye. There were so many things that he had wanted to say that he now never could, and for a second he felt like he was going to fall because _he didn’t even get to say goodbye_ and he never told Obi-Wan that he loved him and he couldn’t remember the last time Obi-Wan’s arms had been around him and— Oh. Oh, _Force_. As he walked, the entire world slowly fell away beneath his feet.

When he finally arrived at the Temple after what seemed like hours, everything became a blur. Healers rushed about him, taking Obi-Wan’s body from his arms, Ahsoka’s slender hands finding their place on his shoulders to lead him back to his quarters, unable to speak. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi was dead, and a part of Anakin Skywalker with him.

 

* * *

 

The funeral was a quiet procession. Ahsoka stood between Padmé and Master Plo. Her hood was up, and she was stone-still, but her eyes looked towards her Master, stood tall, alone. She continued to watch him, tried to see if signs of, well, anything would show on his face. Nothing did. He was stoic, his face grim. She couldn’t see his eyes, and for a moment she was grateful, for she was afraid of what she would find in them. Still, the way he stood, the way his head was hung; it was unsettling. This version of her sarcastic, slightly goofy but good-humoured Master frightened her. This was the version of himself that, she knew, he had never wanted her to see. It was something beyond even what he became when he took upon the mantle of General Skywalker, and she was scared to her core.

But, in true Jedi fashion, she pushed the feelings away and let none of her thoughts show on her face. However, she needed to do something. She couldn’t just stand idly by as Anakin so clearly suffered.

“I’m worried about Master Skywalker,” she told Master Plo after a moment of hesitation, tilting her face upwards so she could see him. “He hasn’t said a word since it happened.”

Master Plo spared her a brief nod before turning back to the funeral proceedings.

“Do not worry now, Ahsoka,” he replied quietly, his voice gentle. “This is not the place for such thoughts.”

She looked down again, her eyes finding Anakin’s still figure once more.

“I know I shouldn’t worry,” she whispered to herself as a beam of light exploded into the dark sky. “But I must, for after today, no one else will.”

Anakin remained still, yet underneath the hood of his cloak, Ahsoka thought she saw a tear glistening on his cheek.

 

* * *

 

Anakin felt empty. He had left the funeral almost at a run; he couldn't face them. Not Padmé, not Ahsoka, not the others. This, this was something that none of them would be able to understand. He felt drained, as if something was slowly sucking the life from his body. Obi-Wan was gone. Force, Obi-Wan was _gone_.

His heart still beat at a steady pace, his lungs still breathed, but something felt broken. Anakin felt less alive, detached from himself, the world, everything. A voice in his mind screamed at him to _do something_ , go after the man who had killed Obi-Wan, but Anakin found that his heart wasn’t in it. His fire, his anger, all of it had simply left him. He was a shell, now, functioning, surviving, but not living, no. Without Obi-Wan, he was only half a man. Something fundamental had been ripped from his very soul, and now there was a gaping abyss in his heart that could never be filled, and it _hurt_. It hurt and hurt and hurt, and there was nothing he could do to stop it, and what difference would it make if he caught the sniper? Obi-Wan wasn’t coming back.

_Obi-Wan wasn’t coming back_. He would never get to see that gentle smile again, never feel Obi-Wan’s warm hand on his shoulder, never get to hear that hushed whisper after a battle, those eyes full of relief— _“stars, you’re alive.”_

He walked through the Temple halls alone, only passing the occasional other Jedi because of how late into the night it already was. His head was turned downward, tears collecting in his eyes as his mind rushed ahead, thinking of countless things he would never feel again, and then the dull ache gradually turned into a stabbing pain as he finally palmed the keypad to his and Obi-Wan’s shared quarters and collapsed against the door. It was then that his tears fell and he was reduced to a mess of hacking sobs, his face blotchy and red.

Everything around him went still as he cried, a deathly silence gripping his ears, his head feeling as if it were filled with cotton. The bond lay in pieces around him, millions of strands of light, fallen. And then, as if his mind was on autopilot, he raised himself from the floor and walked to Obi-Wan’s room, shedding his cloak and his outer tunics before climbing into Obi-Wan’s meticulously-made bed and settling underneath the soft blankets, Obi-Wan’s calming smell gently lulling him to a fitful sleep as he cried softly for someone who he knew to be dead.

 

* * *

 

It was Ahsoka who found him the next morning.

She approached his quarters with a slight sense of dread, but it wasn’t needed, she knew. The air around Anakin’s and Obi-Wan’s shared quarters was forlorn and full of sorrow. She knocked, the sound loud and sharp in her head.

“Master?” She asked when she didn’t hear movement from within. “Skyguy?”

He wasn’t going to answer the door, she figured. Shaking her head, she palmed the keypad and strode in once the door opened. She had last seen Anakin only the day before, but something felt monumentally off about the entire place; dust hung in the air, the blinds were drawn, and the apartment was enveloped in a hollow silence, one which was heavy and weighed down upon her lungs as she tried to breathe.

“Anakin?” She called out tentatively, carefully walking to where she knew his room to be. However, when she opened the door to said room, she found it to be empty. Ahsoka frowned, her facial markings wrinkling slightly. She could feel her Master’s presence, anyone could, for he was a supernova in the Force. He was here, she could tell, but if he wasn’t in his room or the living area then—

Oh. Oh, _stars_. Ahsoka let out a shaky breath as she slowly made her way to Obi-Wan’s room where she knew Anakin was. And yet, once she opened the door and saw him curled up underneath the blankets and his Force presence hit her full force with _sadnesslongingpain_ she couldn't help the tears that welled up in her eyes at the sight of him.

She approached him quietly, and as she did, she could sense that he was awake. 

“Anakin?” She asked, her voice sounding small and shaken. “Do you want to talk about it?”

After a moment, she saw his head move and his eyes met hers. His face was covered in half-dried tear tracks, and his eyes were red from crying. He sniffled, then, and shook his head before further burrowing into Obi-Wan’s bed as if could perhaps swallow him whole. Ahsoka sighed and bit her lip.

“I miss him too,” she said, her head turned downward.

“You don’t— get it,” he croaked out as her head snapped up. His voice was hoarse, he had almost choked upon his own emotions.

“Ahsoka,” he said, his voice hushed and hollow. “I loved him.”

The room was still, the deafening silence enveloping them both. She came closer, sat down, and carefully took his hand in her own.

“I know,” she said, looking to the floor. “I know.”

And then, she felt him shaking, his hand trembling in hers as he was overtaken by sobs, his pain lighting up their Master-Padawan bond like wildfire. He gripped her hand tighter and she didn’t waver, her hand holding his with equal force as she tried desperately not to fall apart in front of him. He needed her, now more than ever, and she was damned if she didn’t try with everything she had to help him.

He had protected and helped her for years now, a guiding light for when she stumbled. It was her turn now to repay the favour.

She would help him, she promised herself. She had to.

And yet, over the evening and well over the next few days, it was becoming evident that something was really wrong, and Ahsoka’s efforts were continuing to prove fruitless. It was scary how little Anakin cared. Ahsoka’d have thought that he would have been angry, vengeful, even, but he wasn’t. When she told him that the sniper had been found and arrested, he didn’t even blink. When she had said that the sniper and two others had escaped the prison, she got no reaction. He was… quiet. It was unsettling. She had thought it would pass, that maybe he’d get better, but he hadn’t.

She checked his comms while he lay in bed.

“You know the Chancellor has requested your presence about three times now?” She had asked the day before.

He hadn’t replied. He hadn’t moved. If it weren’t for the little ripple in the Force, Ahsoka would have thought that he hadn’t even heard her. 

Anakin wasn’t getting any better, she finally concluded. And with that came the inevitable worry, and every hour that passed without Anakin’s usually rampant personality only served to make her more afraid of the long-term consequences. There was only one choice left.

She had to tell the Council. It was the right thing to do, right? And yet, she found herself doubting even as she stood in front of the tall double doors that marked the entrance to the council chamber.

“Enter, Padawan Tano,” suddenly came the ancient voice of Yoda from within. There was no turning back now. If Anakin was there, if he was the man she knew, he would have been staring her down with a disappointed, angry glare.

She breathed in deeply, unclenching her fists as she walked in, stopping in the centre of the room before the Jedi Masters. Mace and Yoda looked upon her perceptively as some of the other council members frowned, perhaps confused to her reason to be there.

“Masters, I am worried about Master Skywalker,” she began, trying as hard as she could to keep her voice from shaking. “He hasn’t left his quarters in days, he’s not eaten. He’s unresponsive, unmoving, and I don’t know what to do. I…” she paused, looking at each of them in turn, her eyes flitting from Master to Master. “I don’t know if he’s ever going to get better. I was hoping, maybe, with time, but…”

She closed her eyes, composed herself. Took another breath.

“Master Kenobi’s death really shook him,” she said, her worry evident, her hands tense by her sides, her slender figure rigid. The members of the council let nothing show, but for a moment she’d thought that Yoda’s gaze had become a little more concerned. However, the look was so fleeting that she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it.

“I understand that Jedi should not hold attachment,” she continued, “but, seeing as Master Skywalker has always been rather, special, and, given his upbringing as a…” Ahsoka stopped, then. Her hands had slowly curled into fists again. She couldn’t say it, and she knew that the Council knew, obviously, but she couldn’t bring herself to utter the word.

Master Yoda nodded and a wave of relief washed over her. 

“Thank you for informing us, we must,” he said, his voice as calm and serene as it always was. “Consult the Force, we will.”

With a solemn nod, Ahsoka turned and walked back out of the chamber, willing her head to be held high. She would not cry, she _could not_ cry. She was stronger than this. She stopped as the door behind her closed, slowed her stuttering breaths, and continued to march forward.

She was stronger than this.

 

* * *

 

Master Windu entered Yoda’s quarters. Yoda sat on one of his meditation cushions, his back to the door. When Mace approached, though, Yoda turned around and opened his eyes.

“This is an unforeseen development,” Mace began, contemplative. “Our plans rested on young Skywalker’s reactions, his anger.”

“Unforeseen, this is,” agreed Yoda, his demeanour calm and balanced, but a hint of worry that only Mace could pick up on evident in the tone of his voice. “Underestimated Skywalker, we have. But, abandon the mission, we cannot. The Chancellor’s safety, our first priority is.”

“Very well,” Master Windu replied, bringing a hand to his chin. “Alas, Obi-Wan will want an update. We still need to figure out Eval’s plans, before it is too late.”

“Said not to contact him, he did,” Yoda started, a hint of warning etched in his weathered features. “If young Skywalker’s condition worsens, want to know, he would. Two days, we will give. Contact Obi-Wan, only then, we will.”

Mace Windu nodded in agreement as he held Yoda’s gaze.

“Two days. Then we will tell him.”  


 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan was worried, to say the least. Taking on the mantle of Rako Hardeen, he had expected Anakin to be the one to arrest him. Mace, Yoda, and he had agreed on that. Yet, he hadn’t. Instead, he’d been taken to the prison by Master Luminara and her own Padawan, a young Mirilian by the name of Bariss Offee.

The fact that he hadn’t run into his former Padawan yet was unsettling. When they had planned the mission, one of the main issues that had been discussed was Anakin’s more-likely-than-not anger and his need to hunt down Obi-Wan’s killer. But none of that had occurred. It was only him and the other convicts and radio silence from the Temple and the increasingly-alarming lack of Anakin’s presence. Obi-Wan couldn’t reach out, of course, for then his cover would be blown. He knew that. He also knew that it had been crucial to shut away their Force bond, to hide his presence so that Anakin wouldn’t feel it. That, at least, wasn't his choice; for even though he was prepared to seemingly die, he wasn’t prepared to cut their bond, even temporarily. Alas, even though it hadn’t been apart of the original plan, Yoda had insisted; told him that it was a critical necessity to their operation. He’d listened, of course, and yet the feeling of foreboding persisted. Besides, everything was still going well, the plan had worked. Why was Obi-Wan so worried?

He knew the answer to that, of course. Anakin hadn’t shown up. Not even a whisper of a Jedi in the area had reached Obi-Wan’s ears. And that, as welcome to the mission as it was, worried him. It gave him an uneasy feeling in his stomach, a sense that something was terribly, terribly wrong, and it had something to do with his apprentice. Something was wrong, and it had to do with Anakin.

While it was extremely dangerous, he knew that he had to contact Mace and Yoda, for if there was something wrong with Anakin, _his_ Anakin, then he had a right to know. 

It was his duty, as a Master, as a Jedi, and as Anakin’s friend. _It was his duty_ , he tried to tell himself. _It was his love_ , his heart whispered treacherously.

He couldn’t contact them, he knew that too. Not when the mission was going so well, not when he was so close. It was too great of a risk, and neither he nor the Jedi could afford to be discovered now, for then the entire operation would be jeopardized.

_But was the mission more important than Anakin?_ His thoughts asked him, to which he asked himself, _was the entire Republic more important than Anakin?_

He found that even in the comforts of his own mind, he was not brave enough to answer. His only hope now was that Anakin would forgive him.

However, back on Coruscant, Anakin still had not left his and Obi-Wan’s quarters. When Ahsoka found him, instead of the bed, he was curled up on the couch, fast asleep. The holo-net projector was on, so he must have been watching before he drifted off.

She noticed then that the blanket was still wrapped around him, so he must have taken with him from the bedroom. Sighing quietly, she turned off the holo-projector and sat down on the couch as the blue light of the screen went out, pushing Anakin’s legs a bit so that she had a bit of room. He groaned, turning, and blearily opened his eyes. Ahsoka noted they were red and puffy, seemingly from crying. There were dark circles underneath them, too. He wasn't getting nearly enough sleep. He blinked at her a few times, as if she was out of focus.

“Ahsoka?” He questioned, scrunching up his eyebrows, his eyes squinting at her face through the dim light of the room. “What are you? Where’s…where’s…”

He trailed off, and Ahsoka was hit with a painful pang as she realized that he had been asking for Obi-Wan. She watched him in silence as tears filled his eyes again, his hands clenched tightly underneath the blanket, his body suddenly growing tense and rigid. He met her gaze and wiped his eyes, letting out a gruff, “M’fine.”

“No, you’re not,” she replied, reaching towards him, her eyes full of her own sorrow. But while her voice was soft, it was also if not a little patronizing. She understood that there was something wrong, but she also needed him, and even though she felt the heavy weight of guilt settle in her chest, her voice gained a slight edge as she said; “You haven’t taken a shower in ages, haven’t changed, haven’t moved, really. Master… You’re not fine, and you need to let him go.”

“I… I…” He stuttered, his gaze unfocused again, his eyes flitting around the room as if he were a lost child. “I can’t, Ahsoka. I just, it’s like, I—“

He choked up, the Force swirling, and she felt his pain, his heartache. 

“I _can’t_.”

“I know.”

And so, the remnants of her guilt fading, Ahsoka sat and comforted him while he let his tears fall yet again. She watched as the strong, happy man her Master was fell apart before her very eyes, and she thought, with a twisted irony, that the man people called the Hero With No Fear was really the man who had the most fear in his heart out of all of them. He was awfully fragile, she realized. He was protective, and he was kind, and brave, always had been. He was merciless at times, she knew. She’d seen him kill without batting an eye, seen the dangerous glint that appeared when he let himself loose on the battlefield. She knew his heart was guarded at all times, and she knew he had a special smile for her, and for Obi-Wan. She knew he hadn’t had an easy childhood, not like her, growing up with the Jedi as her family. She’d known from the start he was different, from the moment she’d started hearing rumours from the other younglings about Kenobi and Skywalker, the unstoppable Jedi duo. In her mind, he went from stranger to idol to Master to older brother, and now, her brother was sad and crying and holding onto her like a lifeline, and she’d never felt more helpless.

A treacherous part of her mind whispered; _Obi-Wan would know what to do_.

But she couldn’t consult Obi-Wan. She couldn’t see him, couldn’t speak to him. She would never get the chance to hear his careful praise, never get to see him throw her a solemn grin on the battlefield as Anakin sailed through the skies. Obi-Wan was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. 

When she buried her face in Anakin’s shoulder, the Force strong and heavy with the weight of his emotions, she felt a tear upon her cheek and realized that she was crying; and in that moment, she let herself. She let herself, because Obi-Wan was gone and she wasn't good enough and Anakin was hurting, the grief eating him alive, and she hadn't the faintest idea of how to help him. 

She only wished that Obi-Wan were here, because her mind was, unfortunately, correct. He would know what to do, and Anakin wouldn't be crying, and everything would be alright.

 

* * *

 

Two days later, Anakin still wasn’t getting any better.

Two days later, Ahsoka went to the Council again, asking them to do something, anything, for Anakin was her Master and she cared about him, and Force forbid he got worse and did something that he very well might regret.

Two days later, Mace Windu met with Yoda in his chambers again and they took out a comlink with a frequency scrambled seven ways and dialled the owner of the second device.

Two days later, in the cockpit of their nondescript ship, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s comm blinked. Rako Hardeen excused himself from the company of Bane and Eval, his hand clasped around his other wrist so that they wouldn’t see the little light as he went to find a private place to take the call that he knew was from the Jedi.

“Yes?” He said, his alias’s rough voice speaking through a face that wasn’t his. His eyes swept the room as his mind reached out with the Force, looking for any hidden dangers or devices.

“Obi-Wan, talk, we must,” came the unmistakable voice of Yoda. He sounded different, a little off from his usual calm. Obi-Wan’s brows furrowed. There was something he was missing.

“Have you got anything else about Dooku’s plan?” He questioned, the uneasy feeling in his chest making it slightly more difficult to breathe.

“It’s, actually not about the mission,” said Mace Windu, blunt and to the point, as always, but the tone of his voice careful, guarded. “It’s about Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan felt his breath catch in his throat. He knew a call like this would come through eventually, considering the fact that he hadn’t seen or heard about Anakin at all had already lead him to believe that something had happened to his apprentice. Now, hearing his suspicions confirmed, that was a different feeling altogether.

“What happened?” He asked, and no, his hands were definitely not shaking.

“He’s,” Mace paused, his voice solemn, “unwell. He didn’t take your death like we expected him to. Not at all, actually. He hasn’t been out of his quarters since it happened, and according to Padawan Tano, he hasn’t been eating or taking care of himself. He’s not getting better, and he refuses to see the Healers or let anyone save Padawan Tano enter his living area.”

“Oh,” was all that Obi-Wan could say as the feeling of wrongness in his chest grew.

“Know if young Skywalker’s condition will worsen, we do not,” said Yoda, a hint of forced reassurance in his tone. “Find out Dooku’s plans, we must.”

“The Festival is in three days, Obi-Wan,” Mace added, his gaze severe. “I have faith that Skywalker will be alright for that long at least. But, we must protect the Chancellor. At this point in the war, that is more important than ever.”

“Yes, Masters,” Obi-Wan replied, his voice tight as he attempted to regain control of his lungs and not to falter in his words. He thanked the Force that they couldn't see his face. “I agree.”

“We shall see you back in a few days, Obi-Wan,” Master Windu said calmly.

“Soon end, this will. In the Force, your trust you must place,” Master Yoda added, and Obi-Wan could almost imagine him nodding.

With that, the line went dead, and Obi-Wan tucked the comm back into the inside of his worn clothing. Worry ate away at him, and so did guilt. Was this what he had driven Anakin to? Kind and brave Anakin? Anakin, who was so, so sensitive at times, and how could Obi-Wan have let that slip his mind?

He took a deep, shaky breath before shutting his eyes tight and releasing his emotions into the Force and calming himself back into the role of the bounty hunter.

Three days, and this would all be over. Three days, and he would see Anakin again.

Three days, and everything would be all right. Right?


	2. Chapter 2

Three days later, Ahsoka was back in Anakin’s quarters. Even in his condition, they wanted him to go to the Festival. Ahsoka wanted to argue, to tell them that, no, Anakin couldn’t go, but she was a Padawan, so she kept her mouth shut and nodded and followed orders, for she couldn’t go up against the Council alone.

So she found herself in Obi-Wan’s room, where Anakin was curled up on the bed.

“Master?” She asked tentatively as she approached. He looked up at her, his eyes dull and lifeless. She closed her eyes, swallowing her sudden emotions.

Anakin didn’t know why she was here. Sometimes, he wished that she would just let him wallow alone in his misery, but often times he knew that if it wasn’t for her he would be much worse off and the silence would eat away at his thoughts. And yet, despite her kind eyes, he didn’t say a word.

“You’ve got to get up,” Ahsoka said gently, placing a hand on the blankets. “The ship for Naboo is leaving in two hours.”

“Naboo?” He asked, frowning. She sighed, removing her hand from the blankets and instead joining it with the other as she crossed them both over her chest and looked at him. If he didn't know better, he'd have thought that she was at least slightly exasperated.

“The Festival of Light,” she explained. “We’re still part of the security detail for the Chancellor.”

“Oh.”

He’d forgotten about that. Forgotten that it was that dumb Festival of Light that sent them after the sniper in the first place, forgotten that it had been the thrice-damned thing to take Obi-Wan away from him. It was because of a Seppie plot to assassinate the Chancellor, too, if he recalled correctly. He found that he couldn’t hate it more, but orders were orders; he knew that, and yet even that didn’t stop him from letting out a tired groan.

“Come on,” Ahsoka continued, letting a false grin light up her features. “We’ve got to get you cleaned up. Wouldn’t want to show up like this in front of the Chancellor, now, would we?”

“Okay,” Anakin said in reply, his voice quiet, his stature filled with a calm resignation as he sat up. It wouldn’t do him well to argue at this point. He already knew for a fact that the Council probably hated him even more for sitting in his quarters all this time and refusing to cooperate, and yet, he found that he didn’t really care.

Ahsoka went to the kitchen to make them both a warm cup of tea while he went to the fresher to take a shower and get dressed. Turning the water on, he stood in the shower as the heat of it floated around him. He was tired, and his mind hurt, but he still had to be a Jedi, and Jedi didn’t just sit around idly by and take breaks, especially not in these dark times. This was war, this was what it was like fighting for a Republic that had already lost itself. Anakin could see it clear as day. This was not the Republic he knew, and Padmé had said so herself on multiple occasions as well. This was not the Republic that Obi-Wan and he had wanted. Letting the water warm him, he stood, his thoughts running rampant. Because there was water streaming down his face already, it took him a while to realize that he was crying.

Meanwhile, Ahsoka took a random tea mixture from the cupboard and started to boil the water in the kettle before putting the tea in the pot. She stood silent, contemplative.

Anakin soon joined her, and she poured the hot tea into the two cups she had taken out earlier. She took them both and gave one to Anakin, who gave her a slight nod. They moved to the living room to sit down on the couch, and Ahsoka watched as Anakin took a whiff of his tea and raised the cup to his lips.

All of a sudden, the cup clattered to the ground, and Anakin jumped up, startled, as if it wasn’t his cup that just crashed to the floor. Ahsoka looked sharply at the scattered fragments and then back up at Anakin, the look in her eyes a hint accusatory.

“That one… was his favourite,” he whispered, his spirit crumbling in upon itself. “I…”

He looked like a wild animal, trapped. His eyes tore around the room, his hands fisting in his hair.

“I…” he repeated, shaking his head, his voice quiet. “I can’t. Ahsoka… I’m sorry.”

And with that, he rushed out of the room, leaving the broken teacup and the spilt tea on the ground, forgotten.

Ahsoka put her own cup down and began to clean the mess her Master had made of the tea. She should’ve picked a different tea mixture. With a pang, she realized that she was going to the Festival alone, for there was no way that Anakin was going to go with them now.

She had thought today had been an improvement, but now, she wasn’t so sure that it wasn’t the opposite.

 

* * *

 

Anakin ran. The Temple was too small, his fingers itched to grip the controls of his starfighter, it was all too small; his mind continued to whirl and whirl and whirl, his thoughts a sandstorm going at hundreds upon hundreds of kilometres an hour and he couldn’t stop running because Obi-Wan was dead and that had been his favourite tea and Anakin couldn't go on, not anymore. It was too much; his limit had been reached.

Artoo was in the hangar already, and so, when Anakin rushed towards his ship, the faithful droid followed, and for that Anakin was thankful because he’d always felt more comfortable around machines than people. The controls responded as quickly as they always had, but for Anakin it was still too slow for he had to get into the air and fly and  _breathe_ …

The ship sailed out of the hangar and Anakin wished he could get out of the atmosphere and go into hyperspace to a planet where he could just be by himself with no Jedi or war to worry about, but he couldn’t do that, so instead he looked at the nav computer and told Artoo to see if he could find an abandoned hangar or landing platform or simply anywhere where there were no people, and  _by Force_ , how he hated Coruscant, its smoke-filled skies and busy traffic lanes and the sheer amount of living beings was suffocating, the lights filling the skies day and night and he couldn’t even see the stars…

Artoo trilled a reply a few moments later and the nav computer blinked, showing Anakin a location on the other side of the planet, the quiet side, away from the Temple and the Senate building and most of the crowds. Anakin thanked the droid and made his way to the small landing platform that had once been a fuelling station for cargo ships but had since been abandoned when the owner died, now belonging to no one because no one had the time to bother with an empty fuelling station.

They flew over the less busy, less bright areas of the bustling galactic capital, and it was only Anakin and Artoo and ship and the sky and Anakin finally felt a semblance of peace for the first time since his Master’s death. But still, it was only a sliver, and then it was gone, swept away by the sandstorm in his head, and oh how Anakin wished that Obi-Wan was here, because it was only Obi-Wan that understood and it was Obi-Wan who raised him and Obi-Wan was the person Anakin was closest to. That person would always be Obi-Wan. That person would never be Ahsoka, nor would it ever be Padmé. It would always be Obi-Wan. He was the one person Anakin had allowed to glimpse his mind, fully and completely, the one person he wholly trusted with his entire being; and now that he was dead, Anakin simply didn’t know how to function. It was as if someone had taken ahold his heart and ripped it from of his chest, painfully, without mercy.

Extending the landing gears, Anakin maneuvered the ship and touched down on the small landing platform, carefully opening the cockpit. He jumped out, his dark cloak allowing him to blend in with the shadows that had fallen upon the city planet as the sun had set.

He knew that Ahsoka and Padmé had no doubt already left with the Chancellor to go to Naboo, despite the threat on the Chancellor’s life, but for the first time, Anakin couldn’t bring himself to care about the man who now practically ruled the galaxy.

Yes, the man had befriended him and given him advice throughout the years, but no, Anakin didn’t trust him. He acted like he did, yes, but in truth, he didn’t. He didn’t really trust any politicians, save for Padmé, because he’d had dealings with power-hungry war-mongers before, and however frail the Chancellor looked and however weak the Jedi Council deemed him, Anakin was not as easily fooled. They forget where he came from, they forget that he does not trust easily.

And no one forgets that more than Chancellor Palpatine. Anakin had already caught onto his undermining ways, his comments about the Jedi. Anakin knew what he was doing, and Anakin knew that the Chancellor was planning something, but what that something was Anakin didn’t know. He had planned on telling Obi-Wan, but the chance had never come.

For the sake of appearances, Palpatine was Anakin Skywalker’s friend, but Anakin, in the comforts of his own mind, did not hold Palpatine in the same regard. He let Palpatine think what he wanted to, but he didn’t really care much for him. At the current moment, the only person he cared about was Obi-Wan, and he really, really wanted to talk with him, but he couldn’t, not now and not ever, for Obi-Wan was dead.

He didn’t know how long he sat there for, looking up at the sky but not seeing the stars, but when he was pulled out of his thoughts it was well into the night. Artoo beeped beside him, and Anakin placed his mechanical hand on the droid’s domed head.

“We’re not so different, you and I,” he said quietly to the droid, a wry grin upon his lips. It didn't quite reach his eyes. Artoo whirred a reply and Anakin chuckled dryly.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right, if I don’t get back before Ahsoka, she’ll get worried,” Anakin agreed. “And everyone else too, I guess.”

With a quiet grunt, Anakin rose from the ground and dusted off his cloak with his hands before getting back into his ship.

“You in, Artoo?”

A beep in reply, to which the screens read;  _OF COURSE I AM. HONESTLY, WHAT DO YOU TAKE ME FOR, A PROTOCOL DROID?_

Anakin smiled, and it was almost genuine this time.

 _If only Obi-Wan were here_ , he thought to himself, his smile fading as he started the starfighter’s engines and took off into the sky.  _Then it would be alright_.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan sat quietly on the ship back to Coruscant, contemplating.

He’d taken his position as Rako Hardeen on a balcony above the procession, but he’d really been watching for Master Windu. He’d scanned the gathered crowd, and what bothered him wasn't the other bounty hunters stationed around the perimeter, but the fact that Ahsoka stood alone, and the tall, familiar form of Anakin was nowhere in sight. He hadn’t come to the Festival at all. As he studied Ahsoka herself, he noticed she looked weary, tired, and there was a frown on her usually-smiling features. She looked troubled. However, Obi-Wan couldn’t dwell on that too much, because soon after he had spotted the other bounty hunters the evening had really begun.

At the end of it, he hadn’t gotten a chance to speak with Ahsoka, instead being swept up in conversation with Masters Yoda and Windu, who congratulated him on the success of the mission, but were glad to have him back.

Then, he was on the ship, and Ahsoka was nowhere to be found.

He watched the lights of hyperspace streak past the viewport and couldn’t help but be reminded of how Anakin’s face had lit up when he saw the stars move in blurred lines past the transparisteel for the first time. Obi-Wan sometimes forgot that Anakin hadn’t always been that tall. He had been so small, those first few years. All Obi-Wan had ever wanted to do was protect him. His presence had been golden, as bright as a thousand suns, and when that presence shone on him… Well, he felt whole. Anakin was as equally a part of Obi-Wan as was Obi-Wan himself. Little Anakin, who had been so entranced by everything, always needing to look, to touch, to take apart. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and tried to keep the memories at bay.

The flight back seemed to take no time at all, and soon they were sailing out of hyperspace and towards Coruscant. They gathered at the ramp of the ship, waiting it to lower. Obi-Wan finally caught a glimpse of Ahsoka standing beside Master Plo, but he couldn't make it to her through the throng of people, and by the time the crowd had left the ship and everyone was going their separate ways, she had already vanished.

He went back to the Temple with Masters Yoda and Windu, straight to the medical wing. He wanted to be himself again, especially before he went to see Anakin.

In about half an hour, he was good as new. His face had been returned, and so had his Jedi robes and lightsaber. Alas, his hair was a different matter, but the healers had given him something so it would grow back a bit faster, so already his head was covered with a ginger fuzz, for which he was thankful for, vain as it was. His beard was a different matter, but that he would think about later.

Now, it was time for the inevitable.

As he walked through the halls of the Temple, Obi-Wan felt a strange feeling in his gut. It was his idea, after all, to not include Anakin in their plans, and although it was most definitely his reaction that sold his death to the sniper, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but doubt whether it was truly the right decision. He knew Anakin’s trust wasn’t easily gained, and not for the first time, Obi-Wan wondered if this would break it.

Striding closer to the quarters Anakin and he shared, Obi-Wan could feel the Force changing. He began to feel Anakin’s presence, as strong as is it always had been, but filled with immeasurable amounts of sorrow. With every step, his mind suffered another shock from Anakin’s pain. No wonder this part of the Temple was almost deserted.

He saw the door before he felt Ahsoka’s warm presence, a stark contrast to Anakin’s own, but also tinged with sadness and hurt. Is this what he had done to his friends? Is this what he had done to the person whom he loved the most?

With every step, he drew nearer and nearer and nearer. There was no stopping now, no second thoughts. He had to face Anakin. He had to own up to his mistakes, he had to apologize to him. He didn't know what he would find behind the door, but he was sure that it would be better to tell him now than to have him find out from someone other than him. Steeling himself for the inevitable, Obi-Wan Kenobi knocked and felled his mental shields.

There was no turning back now.

 

* * *

 

When Ahsoka had returned, Anakin was back on the couch, wrapped in his blanket. There was a full cup of tea on the coffee table, gone cold. Anakin stared blankly at the wall. He didn’t even blink when she walked in. His presence was a whipping hurricane, threatening to tear her apart, a whirl of pain and sadness and defeat. Anakin sat in the eye of the storm, quiet, suffering, oh so clearly hurting. But when Ahsoka looked into his eyes, she only saw emptiness.

She settled herself beside him on the couch and wrapped her arms around his much-larger frame (again).

“There did turn out to be a danger at the Festival,” she told him, her voice empty and hollow as she too stared into space. “Dooku was there, but he ran when Mace and Yoda apprehended him.”

He didn’t reply. He never did, not anymore. She found that she was okay with that right now, for she too wanted the silence to swallow her.

Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Anakin said, suddenly rising. He walked slowly to the door, and for the life of him he couldn’t explain the feeling he got in the pit of his stomach.

There was something he was missing.

The door opened.

Anakin froze.

His mind found the familiar presence, and didn’t protest as it embraced his own. His hurricane stilled as Obi-Wan’s soothing presence calmed Anakin’s mind.

But Anakin couldn’t breathe. How could Obi-Wan be here? His body, falling. His form, carefully held in Ahsoka’s arms, lifeless. His funeral. How had he lived?

Anakin’s mind shut down. Obi-Wan couldn’t be here. He was dead, Anakin saw it with his own two eyes. He carried Obi-Wan’s body to the Temple steps. He was at  _his funeral_.

No. This was impossible.

“I think I should explain,” Obi-Wan began. “Let’s sit down.”

Anakin didn’t protest as familiar hands rested on his back, pushed him back towards the couch, where Ahsoka sat, also frozen, her eyes staring in shock at Obi-Wan.

“H— How?” She stuttered, her voice weak.

“It was all a trick for the Separatists,” began Obi-Wan, his voice quiet. He couldn’t meet Ahsoka’s eyes. “I couldn’t tell you, and I’m sorry. It was your reactions that sold my ‘death’. I became the sniper, Rako Hardeen, so I could get in on the plot on the Chancellor. I— I didn’t know that it would affect you both so terribly, if I had known… ”

“I trusted you,” said Anakin, his voice hoarse. He turned, and Obi-Wan got a good look at Anakin’s eyes and features. He was weary, distressed, but more than anything, tired. Obi-Wan could clearly see that.

“I—“ Anakin blinked a few times, suddenly disoriented, “trusted…”

Obi-Wan leaped forward as the younger man toppled, his eyes rolling back into his head. Ahsoka jumped towards the two of them.

“What’s wrong with him?” Obi-Wan demanded with a fierce protectiveness that shocked even him. Ahsoka frowned and looked hurt (rightly, too), but replied nonetheless, “He didn’t take it well… Your ‘death,’ I mean. He didn’t eat, tried not to sleep… I checked up on him, but he wouldn’t let anyone else in. I thought… maybe he was getting better…”

She rubbed at her eyes wearily and but her lip, helpless.

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said gently, cradling the younger man’s limp form in his arms.

Ahsoka, standing above, suddenly felt like she was intruding on something that was inherently  _private_. She was angry at Obi-Wan, but she couldn’t be, not now, not when he was holding Anakin like he was afraid that he’d hurt him, not when the tone of his voice as he’d said Anakin’s name almost shook with a concealed pain that was so much more raw and real than anything Ahsoka had ever thought Obi-Wan capable of feeling.

“Call the Healers,” Obi-Wan continued quietly, not taking his eyes off Anakin. She nodded absentmindedly and activated her comlink.

Obi-Wan found that he couldn’t explain the tightness in his chest or the suddenly-frantic beating of his heart as he took in Anakin in his arms. Dark circles underneath his eyes, and his skin, almost deathly pale. Obi-Wan sighed again.

“Oh, Anakin,” he repeated, and no,  _those were not tears_ —

He breathed. In, out, in, out.

 _Anakin will be okay_ , he consoled himself.  _Anakin can get through this_.

He only wished that the Healers would get here faster. Ahsoka knelt beside him.

“I’ve called the Healers,” she said to him. “They’ll be here any minute now.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan replied, turning his head away so that Ahsoka wouldn’t see his eyes. He held Anakin closer, as if to make sure that he wouldn’t suddenly disappear. The week that he’d been away, that had been one of the longest weeks of his life. It’s not he’d been away from Anakin before, no. This was different. All week, the Force had felt off, tainted. He thought now that perhaps he knew the reason.

Anakin had thought that he was dead. He’d never even said goodbye. Of course, that had been the plan, for Anakin’s reaction had to be believable… But they’d expected him to be angry. The Council had expected him to go after the sniper, and he hadn’t. He’d been here, struggling and in pain and alone, and Obi-Wan felt his heart wrench again. He thought to what Ahsoka had said.  _“He didn’t eat, tried not to sleep… I checked up on him, but he wouldn’t let anyone else in. I thought… maybe he was getting better…”_

Obi-Wan shut his eyes. This was all his fault.

The door slid open suddenly and Luminara Unduli strode in, a few other Healers in tow. They had a stretcher with them. And then, Obi-Wan was being pried from Anakin and Anakin was being lifted onto the stretcher, the room filled with frantic chatter. There were a pair of hands on his shoulders, pulling him up, Ahsoka pushing him towards the door and through the halls of the Temple.

But Obi-Wan didn’t hear or feel any of it. He was numb, then, his eyes never straying from Anakin’s still form on the stretcher in front of him. He’d done this. It was all his fault.  _It was all his fault_. The thought haunted him all the way to the Halls of Healing and his guilt burned hot and strong within him as he tried to reign in his emotions, but the damage had already been done.

They’d put Anakin in a bed, checked his heart and his breathing. And still, Obi-Wan stayed. Vokara Che had glared at him after she’d told him to leave and he hadn’t, but once it was clear that she could do nothing to make him go she turned to simply ignoring him.

That was hours ago. Now, he was alone with Anakin, Ahsoka having left with Vokara Che because she was just a Padawan and she was tired. Obi-Wan had bid her farewell, but she, like the Master Healer, had ignored him, her bitterness and hurt shining clear through the Force. So that’s how he found himself slumped in a chair in Anakin’s ward, his eyes slowly drifting shut as the Force whirled around him in a storm of guilt and regret.

This was all his fault.

 

* * *

 

When Anakin woke up, he was confused. Clearly something had happened to put him in a healing ward, but what exactly that was evaded him. He frowned slightly and looked around, his eyes suddenly fixating on Obi-Wan, fast asleep on a chair at the side of his bed. But no, that couldn’t be, for Obi-Wan was dead. Anakin found that his breathing was suddenly very harsh and very fast and that he was hyperventilating.

“No,” he whispered to himself, digging his hands into his hair. “No, no, no, no,  _no_ —”

“Anakin?” Came the soft sound of Obi-Wan’s Coruscanti accent, worry blatantly displayed in his expression. And then, the anger set in as Anakin’s memories came flooding back.

“How could you do that?” He said, his voice trembling with rage and despair. “How could you do that to me, Obi-Wan? Have I not proven myself trustworthy to you? To the Council?”

“Of course you have,” Obi-Wan replied quickly, a hint of panic in his words. “I made a mistake, Anakin. I should have told you about the mission, and I didn’t. That was wrong of me, and I’m sorry.”

“Well, you know what?” Anakin laughed, the sound humourless and full of venom. “Tell that to your  _kriffing_  Council because it’s quite clear that you don’t care about me enough to tell me when you’re going to go ahead and  _kill yourself_  for a mission!”

“Anakin, please,” Obi-Wan pleaded, the beginnings of tears swimming in his own eyes as Anakin began to cry. He reached out to the younger man, only to have his hand hit away.

“Go away, Obi-Wan!” Anakin yelled through his emotions, his voice sharp and hoarse with pain. Pain that Obi-Wan had caused him. Every word out of Anakin’s mouth cut him, and every word was true.

“I don’t know why you’re even here anymore,” Anakin told him, hysteric, his hands clenched into fists, but still, his hair was golden and his eyes were blue and this was Anakin and suddenly Obi-Wan realized that he wouldn’t be able to go on if he did what Anakin asked. He had to fix this. He needed Anakin to give him another chance. And that, that was what gave him the bravery he needed.

“I’m here because I love you!” Obi-Wan exclaimed suddenly, breaking the silence that they had lapsed into.

Anakin's head snapped up, the shock so prevalent in his features that it was as if Obi-Wan had slapped him. His eyes were wide, his mouth open almost comically.

“What?” He whispered, his voice small and fragile, his face wet with tears. In that very moment, all of Obi-Wan's inhibitions were gone to the wind.

“I’m here because I love you,” he repeated, the words surprisingly easy to say now that he had already admitted it. “I love you, Anakin, and Force be damned if I let my mistakes push you away because I _need_ you. Screw the Jedi Code. I’m attached, and I love you, and seeing you cry breaks my heart and I can hardly live with myself knowing that I caused this.”

“I love you too,” Anakin replied, his voice somehow even smaller than it was a moment ago. “I thought you didn’t, I thought it was only me—“

“No,” Obi-Wan said sharply. “Force, no. I was a coward Anakin, and I failed you. I’m sorry.”

Anakin met his gaze then, those impossibly blue eyes staring into his own, searching, scanning his face for any signs of deceit. And then, Anakin inhaled deeply and pulled Obi-Wan into a tight hug.

“I don’t care about that now,” he mumbled, the words thick with emotion and slightly muffled because Anakin’s face was buried in Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I’m just so happy you’re alive because I thought I’d lost you. I thought that I would never get to see you again and tell you that I love you and that hurt.”

“I know, Anakin,” Obi-Wan replied quietly, his arms holding Anakin like a lifeline. “I’m so sorry.”

They stayed there like that, wrapped up in each other’s arms on Anakin’s bed in the Halls of Healing, and then;

“I forgive you,” Anakin said, his voice soft, his hands a steady weight on Obi-Wan’s back, his presence warm and reassuring. Obi-Wan smiled, ignoring the salty wetness upon his face, instead choosing to bury his nose into the crook of Anakin's neck. Soon, they fell asleep together, the quiet of the Temple swallowing them both.

The next day, Anakin was discharged by Vokara Che and was free to leave. Obi-Wan smiled at him as they left the ward together, heading back to their shared quarters. As they walked, side by side, they could see the lazy light of the rising sun drifting through the halls, soft and glowing. Anakin smiled back, his features radiant, and it was genuine this time. For a while, the two of them forgot about the war, about their responsibilities, about the endless fighting, simply choosing to sit down and have breakfast together for the first time in what seemed like years. Obi-Wan’s hands clutched his cup of tea as he watched Anakin sip at his, and the Force was tranquil around them, balanced.

They were together, and the Force sang.

**Author's Note:**

> this was posted a little late, i know, but it was also super long and took quite a while to write (it's over 10,000 words smh). anyway, hope you enjoyed!! leave a comment if you liked it :)
> 
> vortexoftime.tumblr.com


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